Wretched, Pitiful, Poor, Blind and Naked
by S.K. Millz
Summary: Not everything is knowable.
1. The Nonexistence of Ghosts

It had been a busy night for Cody Martin—a busy New Year's Eve. With his angel tethered to his arm and his glass listing with St Julian's, he and the rest of the gala deck had watched the ball drop on live TV, and in the spirit of the moment, as if in reaction to some improbable victory, outcheered even Times Square. There'd been sparklers and streamers and in a haze they'd danced and sung along to last year's hits like drunken idiots under the dull yellow glow of the moon and no stars and the flat half-dollar glow of the moon. Purple and gold and everycolor confetti blustering about the deck like angeldust, floating in the punchbowl, curling and glittering through shapeshifting stagelights. Peppering Bailey's hair. Somewhere along the line he'd kissed her, made that pledge, that final looming commitment. And she'd kissed him back—the capstone to what had been in his mind the most sweeping, beautiful, dreamlike night of his life.

On their way back from the gala deck they found Cody's older brother lying curled up in the floor outside his cabin door. He wore an oversized Red Sox shirt and yellow pinstriped pajama bottoms. He was fast asleep.

Cody shook his twin awake, whispering: 'Zack?'

Zack peeled back his left eyelid. Then he sat up and yawned, scratching behind his ears. 'Morning, lovebirds,' he croaked. 'How was the party?'

'You mean you weren't there?'

Zack glared up at them. 'Obviously I wasn't missed,' he muttered.

'Ever heard of a bed?'

'Last night I left to get fresh towels and I accidentally locked myself out of my room.'

'You could've asked Moseby to let you in.'

'I thought I'd wait for Marcus, but he never showed.'

'Funny,' Cody said, helping his brother to his feet.

Zack asked: 'Mind if I hang out in your room for a while?'

As covertly as possible Bailey shook her head no.

'Kirby's still up,' Cody sputtered. 'Why dont you ask him to let you in.'

Zack opened his mouth, as if to protest. Then he froze, glancing suspiciously from face to face, slowly getting the picture. He thought he'd noticed something. Dry lips. Trembling fingers. The sparkle in Bailey's eyes, the position of her hands in relation to Cody's chest.

Zack placed a lazy paw on his brother's shoulder. 'Alright,' he winked. 'I dig.'

'Thanks, Zack.'

'Don't mention it.'

* * *

In bare feet Zack trudged up the stairway to the rec center, which was all clear save for two ravenous sophomores groping and making out behind the foosball table. Everything buried beneath confetti, flyers, the remnants of balloons.

He squeezed his way outside. The air was warm and thick. Eighty-five degrees. Since mid-October they'd been sailing resolutely southward, straddling the equator, baking in the sun. For Zack, the spirit of the holiday season had only been deadened by the stickier climate. After all, what was Christmastime without snow, without that tactile balance between outer cold and inner warmth?

He tiptoed past a cluster of his-age girls, keeping his head down, wary of being spotted traipsing around the ship in his PJs—especially on a night when he was supposed to be out partying, getting shitfaced, doing God knows what with God knows who.

'Zack? Is that you?'

'Maya?'

'Nice threads. Your jammy-jams?'

'Maybe,' he droned slyly, turning around.

Already they were giggling, whispering, eyeing him distantly, as if he weren't actually there.

'What've you been up to?' Maya asked.

'Sleeping.'

'On New Year's Eve?'

'More or less.'

'Good times.'

'Well.' He clasped his hands together. 'What've _you _been up to?'

'Nothing.'

'Doesn't look like nothing. Where you headed?'

Another round of giggles.

'The engine room.'

'It's haunted!' beamed Sloane, her fingers posed like ghoulish little claws.

Maya rolled her eyes. _'Allegedly.'_

'You should come with,' Sloane offered, eyeing Zack tipsily.

'Can't it wait?'

She flung her head from side to side. 'It's now or never, buster!'

'London's key's due back by two,' Maya explained.

'Come on! It'll be an adventure!' Sloane yanked Zack by the wrist as if he had no say in the matter and together with Maya they marched off toward the rear of the ship, leaving the others behind.

'I don't know if this is such a great idea,' Zack began uneasily.

Maya snorted. 'Don't be silly.'

'I'm serious.'

'There's no such thing as ghosts.'

'How do _you_ know?' Sloane put in.

'I've never seen one.'

Zack cleared his throat. 'I have.'

'Don't be silly.'

'I'm serious.'

Sloane whirled around, suddenly fascinated. 'What did it look like?'

'A woman. Her name was Irene.'

'You're full of it,' Maya huffed.

'Why would I lie?'

'To scare us.'

Sloane made a face. 'He wouldn't do that!'

'Oh no?'

'You don't have to believe me, Maya.'

'I don't.'

'I do!' gloated Sloane, clinging to Zack's arm.

Maya groaned incredulously. 'Did your brother see it too?'

Zack nodded. 'But he's since chosen to rationalize things.'

'Of course he has.'

'Not everything is knowable.'

'Some things are.'

'Like the nonexistence of ghosts?'

'You read my mind.'

'Whatever.'

* * *

The door to the engine room was pressure-sealed and keycard locked. After swiping London's card, Maya punched in the eleven-digit passcode, releasing the hatch. Then, with Zack's help, she wheeled the door loose and tugged it open.

'After you,' she smirked, hipping her hands.

Zack frowned. Sloane cowered behind him.

Beyond the hatch lay only sheer darkness. A low bass whirring. The occasional acoustic plimp of condensed water dripping on steel.

Clutching the doorframe, as if lowering himself into a pool, Zack eased a slow, probing step forward. The room felt huge, even swimming in darkness. He took another step, his bare foot dragging through ice-cold water.

He sprang backward. Sloane yelped. Maya nearly lost her balance.

'What happened?'

Zack stood wiping his foot on the leg of his pajamas. 'Wet in here,' he muttered.

A loud clanging issued from the ceiling and, sensing motion, the domelights flickered on.

'He's just trying to scare us,' Maya snickered, slipping through the hatch.

Sloane followed sheepishly behind her. 'I wish he wouldn't.'

They waited for the lights to come up, the layout of the room slowly taking shape before them, emerging from the shadows, as if being created. They stood on a railed catwalk overlooking two enormous silverwhite enginepods, forty-foot steel cylinders affixed symmetrically with all manner of hoses and ducts and other strange ornamentations.

Concealed beneath four additional enginepods was a sort of control hub, connected by a maintenance ladder to the catwalk above. Three immensely complex-looking panels cluttered with unmarked knobs, switches and dials formed a giant horseshoe around the edge of the platform.

'What do you think all these buttons do?' Sloane shouted over the sixfold roar of the engines.

'I don't know,' Zack shrugged. 'But I wouldn't touch anything if I were you.' He winked. 'Grounds for expulsion.'

'See?' Maya began flatly. 'There's nothing spooky about this place.'

'It's too noisy to be spooky,' Zack admitted.

Sloane nodded. 'And bright.'

Zack studied the leftmost control panel, his fingers skittering nimbly over the instruments.

'Wonder if we could spy on Cailey from here,' he smirked, eyeing the four blank plasmascreen monitors situated above the console.

'Why? What're they up to?'

'Knockin boots in Cody's room.'

Maya arched an eyebrow. 'TMI, Zack. TMI.'

'They're so cute together,' bubbled Sloane.

'Yeah. Cute.'

'Kittens are cute,' Maya sneered. And then: 'I'm bored. Let's get out of here. It's New Year's, not Halloween.'

'We just got here.'

'And we've already seen everything there is to see.'

Zack waggled a finger. 'Not everything.'

But that was all.

The lights cut off sharply. Sloane shrieked. Zack stumbled into Maya, who had to wrap her arms around his waist just to keep from being knocked across the room. Zack flung out an arm, grasping at the darkness, took hold of something rigid and metallic, used it to regain his balance. Whatever it was gave way the instant he pulled himself upright.

'We're okay,' he breathed. 'We're okay.'

The airducts were hissing.

'What happened to the lights?' Sloane whimpered.

'How should I know?'

'Get out your phones,' Maya instructed.

Instantly three glowing blue squares winked open from the black like portals to some brighter dimension.

'We're okay,' Zack said again, his chin illuminated in a pale white V.

'I'm with Maya,' Sloane stammered. 'Let's get out of here.'

'Can you make it to the ladder?'

She swung around, using her phone's display to locate the first rung. Zack started toward her, dragging Maya by the wrist. Sloane went first, the floors of her sandals nearly crushing Zack's fingers as he scrambled up after her.

One by one they pulled themselves up, began threading their way along the catwalk.

The hissing in the airducts had quieted to a low whisper.

Zack heaved open the door at the end of the platform and stumbled out into the brightlit hallway beyond. It was roasting in there. A thin layer of steam clinging to the ceiling, the floor soaked, walls coated with shining beadlets of condensed water.

Sloane made a little noise, but nothing further. Maya eased the door shut.

Together they scurried up the stairs to the wraparound deck and escaped finally into the cool night air.

'What do you think happened?' Sloane wondered.

'Doesn't matter,' Maya replied. 'It was a stupid idea, going down there.'


	2. What Happened

Steam lifting off the midnight water. Great sheets of it, like selective fog. The deck wet and saturated, railings slick and dripping.

They could hear chattering on the decks above. Tense, worried voices. A long steady note, which to Zack sounded something like a scream.

The gala deck was swirling with pitchwhite steam. A few half-dressed students clutching each other in silence, looking petrified. There were more up on the balcony—a good two-dozen of them—shifting about nervously amid clumps of forgotten streamers and confetti.

No music. Party over.

'Oh my God,' Maya whispered.

Yet more steam was creeping up from the dormitories, the connecting tunnel lidded by an opaque and shifting barricade of white.

Zack thought about his brother.

'What happened?' Maya was asking.

No one seemed to know, staring right through her.

They found Kirby sitting alone at the juicebar, one hand massaging his forehead, eyes darkly lowered.

'What happened?'

He jumped, startled, then slowly clambered off the barstool gripping his beltbuckle.

'No tellin,' he said after a while. 'Look to me like a steam valve break.'

'What does that mean?'

'Don't know,' he shrugged. 'But whatever it was, it flooded the entire ventilation system.'

'With steam?'

He nodded.

'How bad could it be?' Maya wondered.

'You'd have to ask Mr Moseby.'

'Where is he?'

'Behind you.'

Zack whirled around, feeling a sharp tug on his right arm. Moseby had him by the elbow, snarling: 'What did you do?'

'_Me?'_

'You weren't at the party. Where've you been all night?'

'What's the big deal?' Maya blurted out. 'A little steam never hurt anyone.'

Moseby was trembling. 'It's superheated,' he grimaced. 'For powering the ship!'

Sloane cupped her mouth in horror. 'What does that mean?'

But Zack had heard enough.

Squirming free, he made a break for the dorms, for the immense shroud of white fog coiling up through the corridor. Maya yelled after him, but he wasn't listening.

His brother was in there. Bailey too.

Steam sluiced over his skin as he neared the tunnel. Ceiling dripping, air quivering. A dank, almost organic smell, like fresh mulch.

He lumbered on, arms outheld, zombie-like, knifing through the fog, fingertips probing bare walls for cardslots and doorknobs. He knew these halls—just not well enough to negotiate them blindly.

Already he could feel his face reddening, his hair beading with sweat, the heels of his pantlegs heavy and soaking. He tried to visualize Cody's door.

Slowly he rounded the bend at the end of the hallway, lungs burning. Air thick. Solid white. Impenetrable.

He slumped to his knees. Vision blurred, skin peeling.

Another cloud came rolling in, a great flowering mass. He shrank from it, shielding his face, the skin of his palms wrinkling up like boiled cabbage.

Seeing red.

Seeing black.

When he reopened his eyes he was on the ground, being dragged out by the ankles, floor scrolling away into the fog, taking the skin on his right cheek with it.

* * *

He awoke to Maya's shoulder, her arms coiled loosely around him, hands tracing little clockwise circles up and down his back. He sucked in a breath of cool air, then coughed it back up.

Maya let go.

'What happened?' Zack sputtered. 'Where's Cody?'

They were out on the lido deck, poolside, completely alone. Morning sun pale and red, balanced like a marble on the still-dark horizon. Above them a lone star-spangled banner whipped lazily southwest.

Maya smoothed back a loose strand of hair.

'Cody's dead, Zack.'

She'd said it flatly, without feeling, eyes tired and empty.

Zack laid back, the cement cold and wet beneath him.

For a long time neither of them spoke. The wind. The soft intermittent lapping of the pool.

Maya sat watching him think. She touched his peeled and bleeding hand.

'How many others?' he said at last.

'Something like nine hundred. Students. Passengers. Crew.'

Zack nodded. Tears welled in his eyes but did not fall.

'Sloane told Moseby everything,' Maya went on. 'But she couldn't account for the leak.'

'That's because I caused it.'

'Zack…'

'I remember.'

'It wasn't your fault.'

'Then whose was it?'

She gripped his hand, lacing their fingers. 'It wasn't anybody's fault.' And then: 'Not everything is knowable.'

'Some things are.'

She closed her eyes. 'I don't think I can help you.'

'I don't want you to help me.'

'Do you want me to leave?'

'No. I don't want you to leave.' He sat up, breaking her grip on his hand. He touched his face. 'How do I look?'

'You look fine.'

He scooched to the edge of the pool, studying his bent and shifting reflection in the water's surface. His right cheek was scraped raw, bleeding here and there. He lowered his hands to the water and rinsed them in a dense cloud of pink, then splashed a few droplets on his face.

'Do you still have the key?' he asked without looking up.

Maya hesitated. One hand slid slowly toward her pocket. 'Why?'

'I have to go back,' he said. 'I have to know for sure.'

'Know what?'

'If I'm responsible.'

* * *

They swiped London's card and heaved open the hatch. Zack went first, ignoring the puddle, ignoring the darkness, the engines' collective roar reduced to a low and sickly murmur. Eventually the lights flared up.

Maya followed closely behind him, along the catwalk and down the ladder. When they reached the maintenance hub on the platform below, Zack immediately stalked toward the leftmost control panel and stood surveying the surrounding area, the knobs, the switches, the blank and gaping surveillance monitors.

'What're you looking for?' Maya asked.

Zack didn't answer. He had his hands raised, framing the room between his thumbs and forefingers, as if attempting to visualize something. His eyes settled on a row of yellow and black striped levers to the right of the control panel, all but one of which were toggled upward. The remaining lever appeared to have somehow broken free of its safety latch and now stood partly lowered. An enormous yellowblack sign above the levers read in bold print: Danger.

He had only a few seconds to admire it before, with a familiar clatter, the lights blinked out.

Maya inhaled sharply, reaching for her phone. She lit the screen and swung it toward Zack. 'What is it with this place?'

Again he didn't answer. Head down, eyes averted, skin pale and blue against the dimming artificial light.

'Zack?'

'I'm pitiful,' he said at last, glancing up from the floor.

Maya remained silent.

Suddenly Zack flung up his arms. 'Isn't there anyone here?' he called out, as if addressing the shadows. 'Any forgotten spirits? Any restless souls? Anyone at all?'

No response.

He allowed his arms to fall limply to his sides. 'No one?'

'I'm here,' Maya put in.

Zack ignored her. 'I thought that maybe I was wrong. That maybe I'd find something down here. Someone. Anyone.'

'I'm here!' Maya repeated.

'You won't be for long. No one ever is.'

'What do you mean?'

Zack sat down in the floor. 'It's me,' he choked, his cheeks smeared finally with glimmering tears. 'No one can or will hold on.'

'I don't understand,' Maya whispered, inching closer.

'Do you want to know why I wasn't at the party last night?'

She didn't answer.

'The same reason I'm down here now,' he said softly. 'Because everyone I try to hold onto—' He made a fist, then abruptly opened it, as if spreading ashes. 'I was hoping that there might be someone else down here. Someone who could explain it to me.'

'It wasn't your fault,' Maya said again, her throat tightening.

'It had to be.'

'Zack…'

He was on his feet. 'How could I not be guilty?'

Maya leveled the light at him.

'I'm pathetic,' he snarled, turning to face the console.

His fist sprang up and dented the monitor nearest him.

Maya jumped.

A long spiderweb-shaped fissure forked out across the glass. Zack flexed his fingers, watching the blood funnel down between his knuckles, into his palm. His chest heaved in and out.

Maya stepped through the shadows. She closed her phone. She placed one hand on his shoulder, and in the other she took his wrist. Then she raised his knuckles to her lips and kissed them.

He wouldn't be abandoned again.

* * *

Later that morning the Miami coastguard arrived to begin ferrying survivors back to shore. Much of the steam had cleared, but some areas were still uninhabitable.

Zack and Maya sat together on the wraparound deck, awaiting evacuation. A good fifty people in line ahead of them, another fifty or so in back. The lifeboats could transport up to five at a time. They'd be fitted with PFDs and floated out across the water toward one of two patrolboats, then hauled onboard to safety.

When it was finally their turn to be lowered down to the water, the patrolman at the head of the line placed Maya in raft A and Zack in raft B. The little yellow vessels then set off rocking through the current.

Zack watched from the gunwale as Maya's face retreated slowly into the foam and the spray of the ocean, as the rafts parted ways, picking up speed.

It was January first. It had been for a long time.


End file.
